Held at Gunpoint
by ArtIsOurAmmunition
Summary: Max got caught up in the messed up life of Nickolas Walker. She, being a federal agent, had saved his butt just one too many times, and suddenly she finds herself stuck with him and all of his secrets. And just maybe...falling for him. FAX.
1. Crash and Kill

**-WARNING! LOTS AND LOTS OF VIOLENCE. IF YOU DON'T LIKE TO READ ABOUT REALY GRUESOME STUFF, I SUGGEST YOU TURN AWAY NOW. THERE'S MURDER, UM...A GUY SLITS SOMEONE'S THROAT...MAX SHOOTS A COUPLE OF PEOPLE...SOMEBODY ELSE SHOOTS SOMEONE...STUFF LIKE THAT. IF THAT'S TOO MUCH FOR YOU...I SUGGEST YOU GO. SORRY :( -**

**The violence isn't actually too bad, but it happens a lot. Just a warning.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Maximum Ride. If I did, Dylan would be dead. Max would have chopped him up slowly with those ultra-thin wires. And then Fang would have come, and Max would beat the living crap out of him, and then make out with him.**

**True Max style.**

_**Crash and Kill**_

MAX POV

There is no manual to life. You can't open up a short book of instructions and expect to be an expert within twenty minutes. Instead, we as humans spend a century going through stage after stage of life, hoping that in the end we'll die happy and ready for whatever is to come after that.

For me...life isn't exactly simple, and I'm not entirely sure if that next life I'm supposed to go to is heaven…or hell.

Joining the F.B.I seemed like a good idea at first, and years after that. Except of course, when that first kill takes place, and suddenly you regret it all.

So, I'm a killer.

Killers go to hell, right?

Even if it's for a good cause?

But…well…I can't go back on my job. I have the burden of taking care of the hundreds of criminals running rampant in Oakland, California, a city notorious for it's high crime rates.

Trust me, life isn't simple. It's not a toy, so there's no way to cheat.

Sighing, I shrugged my slim-fit t-shirt over my head and let it fall to the ground, not even bothering to throw it into the nearby hamper. I walked the short distance to my closet examining the sparse clothed I actually owned. Deciding to wear just some simple flannel pants, I slipped out of my dark cargo pants and into them, reveling the feel of the soft fabric.

I stumbled tiredly to the bed and fell backwards onto it. My body turned onto its side and my legs curled in the sheets before I reached one hand out and flicked the switch on the built-in light switch on the wall. The silence enveloped my like a blanket and refused to let go; only the slightest crack of the cooling building breaking it. It seemed to be creepy and mysterious in some ways, to have absolutely _nothing_ there.

Before I knew it though, the mood changed completely as suddenly loud thrashing and low grunts broke any form of silence. Instantly, my tiresome mood was washed away and my eyes shot open, ready for action.

Shooting out of bed I ran down the hall, grabbing my gun on the way and ran through the kitchen and living room until finally bursting through the front door. The noises continued from the apartment across from mine, a large 911 plaque for the address. Figures, this would be where the danger was.

A small smile formed at my lips, the sign of rising excitement for me, and I threw myself against the door.

It took three hard crashes at the locked door and quite a few curses until it finally swung open and hit the wall behind it with a loud _BANG. _My arms automatically gripped the gun harder and they sprang up in front of my face, the classical position for this kind of thing. The trashing had stopped by now, my presence evident, and I advanced inside.

My voice rang out, loud and confident. "Come on, it's not like you're going to hide. I could hear you from my room and you're not doing much good to my precious beauty sleep. Now that calls for punishment, " I chuckled darkly. "Not to mention, I have an excellent shot."

I crept through the place, on guard and ready for anything. The bedroom door was open and I cautiously stepped through, my bare feet barely making any noise.

My eyes landed on two guys, one older and one my age, on the ground. The older man was under the other holding him tight to his chest with a restricting arm.

And not to mention the knife that was being held against the younger's neck.

I was across the room, maybe 15 feet away, my gun pointed directly at the other's head, as he seemed to be the most likely suspect here. The boy my age looked slightly flustered, breathing heavily but still acting as if this happened every day.

Maybe it does.

His shaggy black hair fell in front of his face as his chest rose and fell; his pale, slightly muscular arms coated with a thin sheet of sweat.

The man with the knife suddenly stood up, throwing the younger harshly to the floor, and walked towards me, taunting the other. "Well, well Nicky, " he drew the name out, "Look what you've stirred up. Wouldn't want her to suffer because of you, now would you?"

The younger (still on the floor) ground out between clenched teeth. "Like she said, she has an excellent shot."

His voice was velvety smooth, enough to make any girl swoon. Ha! They don't even need to hear his voice. One look at those perfectly toned arms and their already drooling.

He stood, his actions silent as to not alert the other's whose eyes were still locked with mine.

"I'm sure it is. So, how did it become so perfect? Experience? Are you a criminal, girl?" he mocked gasped, "A cop? No, not a cop…a federal agent! You guys sure have quite the spunk!"

He got a wicked smile. "Right, Nick? I'm sure you've dealt with quite a few be-"

"Nick" was already behind him and lunged, his fist coming in contact with the others jaw. He stumbled backwards and in my direction. In a second I had dropped my weapon and lunged, placing a roundhouse at his hand. His hand jerked back and I watched in silent prayer as his knife flew out of his hand and towards Nick. The knife clipped his arm, nothing serious, but still I lost my focus for a moment and gasped quietly; I had only been trying to keep him safe from _him_ and look what _I_ did.

That moment was enough though. By the time I had the chance to fight back, he had served three punches to my arms and a good kick to my stomach.

I straightened and gave my best death-glare and fought back with everything I had, refusing to let this bastard get anything on me. I was fuming, throwing a fury of punches with accompanied grunts of effort.

I was overdoing it, I know. But, for some reason, I couldn't wrap my head around somebody beating me; winning a battle I've never lost. Everyone has his or her faults and mine is the fault of never losing in my own game. The game every federal agent plays, the one with the crime solving and shooting, and when necessary: killing.

Luckily, Nick managed to pull me away just before I practically killed the man. He lay there on the ground, groaning and holding his stomach for dear life.

He didn't look like he was getting up any time soon.

Nick stood me up against the wall and stared at me. "Calm down. You're fine."

I nodded, my tank-top clad chest rising and falling heavily and muttered a quick. "Right. I should probably call this in."

His eyes quickly flashed with an undeniable panic, but he nodded and backed up.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself from the wall, and started to the door.

I glanced around the place for a moment, taking in how everything was as it should be for a younger adult's home.

Translation: It was a rotten mess.

Clothes were scattered across the beige carpet, piles of popcorn lying at random intervals on the black sofa across from a large TV with stacks and stacks of movies and video games scattered around it.

It was an average sized apartment, with one bedroom, a bathroom, kitchen, and dining room. The living room was small, barely leaving room for a small couch, recliner, and TV. The walls were barren, no pictures, no posters of scremo bands, just a simple window with thick, black curtains blocking out any chance of sunshine.

This guy is such a messy shut-in.

On my way to the door, I had to kick aside a bowl of green mac & cheese, and gagged a few times until I finally reached it.

I walked across the hall and into my own apartment, quickly finding the light switch. Down the hall and in my room, sitting on the bedside table was my phone.

I picked it up and held down number two, the quick speed-dial for my boss.

It ringed four times before he picked up, his gruff voice ringing through my ears. "Honestly, Ride? It's like two in the morning!"

I rolled my eyes. "Actually Dylan, it's about eleven."

He seems slightly confused. "Really? I should really get this clocked fixed."

I jogged back to Nick's apartment while talking. "Yeah, you should. Listen, my neighbor just got attacked. I figured we'd just take care of the scene and arrest the guy, and then hand it over to whoever works this kind of stuff."

He sighed, and his voice held some edge now. "Next time this happens, call straight to the harassment unit, okay? Don't even bother calling me. I'll do it this once, but never again. Next time, you're fired. I'll be there in ten."

I hung up, taking note of the threat, and walked into Nick's bedroom, where he leaned against the far wall, a deadly glare settled on the intruder.

The man lay on the floor, looking to be unconscious.

I raised an eyebrow. "When did he pass out?"

Nick turned his head slightly and gave the slightest smirk, "Right after I punched him."

I nodded, not really caring. "Okay. I called my boss, and he said he'd be here in ten minutes. You should clean up your cuts."

Nicks eyes widened a fraction of an inch and he turned fully to me. "Why did you have to call the cops anyway?"

I gave him a funny look. "You were just attacked; of course I called the cops!"

He swore and looked around the room. He raced over to the corner and grabbed his shoes, shoving them violently onto his feet.

I brought my hands out in a questioning gesture. "Where do you think your going?"

He glanced at me sharply, and started towards the door. "I don't like cops."

I shoved him quickly from the door, and stood in his path. "Yeah? Well too bad! You have to give a report!"

He glared an icy glare. "No I don't. I'll be perfectly fine on my own, thank you."

"Yes, you do!"

He started towards the door again. In a flash, I crouched and picked up my dropped gun. I jumped up just as he got two feet away from me and the door, bringing the gun up to rest on his chest. "Yeah right. You're staying here."

A voiced chimed in behind me, and I breathed out in relief. "She's right, you know. You're a witness and you have to give a report, or else you become a suspect on the run. Suspects get a full background check and investigation, which I'm sure you would not enjoy."

I spoke now. "Witnesses, all they have to do is write a report and answer a few questions. No harm done."

Dylan came up behind me and pushed my arm lightly. "Now Max, please put the gun down."

Obediently, I dropped my arm with the gun to my side, taking a quick moment to turn the safety on.

Nick paused for a second, looking anything but happy. "Fine. I'll be a stupid witness."

Dylan stared over my shoulder warily at the guy on the ground. "Good. Max, you can go question him, while I go deal with this guy."

I nodded curtly and spoke to Nick. "Do you have anything to eat?"

He nodded. "Top Ramen."

He lead me to the kitchen, where I plopped down on one of the bar stools.

Ten minutes later he sat a bowl down in front of me, and I started my questioning. "Okay, let's start. What's your full name?"

Something flashed in his eyes. "My name is Nickolas Walker. But just call me Fang."

I nodded. "Okay…Fang."

**Yay! Chapter numero uno! Whoot-whoot! Let us hope this turns out good! **

** Okay, enough with the Spanglish.**


	2. Thrill Ride

**I wanted to point out that it doesn't seem OOC that Fang is Max's neighbor, and she sees his more as a neighbor than a witness. So, she's a lot nicer to him than she would normally be to the people she has to deal with on a regular basis.**

**Umm…this chapter is where the other one left off, so obviously it's on the same night.**

**ENJOY!**

_**Thrill Ride**_

(MAX POV)

_"Okay…Fang," _I said hesitantly, not sure is he was kidding or not. "How old are you?"

He answered coolly. "I'll be 26 in a month."

Dylan walked over and handed me a notepad and pen, and I hurriedly jotted down his answers. Normally, we would write down whether he looked like he was lying or not, but it seemed pretty impossible with this guy.

I continued with the standard questions. "Do you know any felons?"

He stared at me, eyebrows raised. "Did you not notice the guy who almost killed me?"

I mentally slapped myself. "How did you know him?"

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Just an old guy from a couple years back. I stole his girlfriend."

I leaned forward, not believing him. "He tried to kill you over a _girl _that you went out with _years ago_?"

He nodded, not seeming to care. "The girl was a millionaire, about to inherit even more."

I blinked. "Oh. Well then, that could make someone pretty angry."

I continued. "Okay, other than the whackjob who tried to kill you, do you know any felons?"

He thought for a moment. "If you count a co-worker of mine, Iggy. He once vandalized some government property."

"I need a straight answer; yes or no?"

"Yes, Iggy."

"Where do you and…Iggy work?"

"At the boxing ring."

"Now you're going to have to tell me everything that happened tonight."

He sighed. It was obvious he was getting slightly annoyed with me. "I was watching TV when I heard a knock on the door. I turned it off and went to the door, only to have a knife against my neck and that idiot telling me I'm dead. Not exactly me idea of a night at home. Anyway, that last thing I wanted was to _die _so I tried to reason with him that I was done with miss Lissa Ghiragelli, and that he should just go find her and take her back. He only got pissier, and next thing I know, I was punching him. We fought and somehow got to my bedroom, and then you miraculously came to the rescue. Not that I needed rescuing anyway."

I rolled my eyes and wrote it all down. "Yeah, you _definitely _didn't need help. 'Cause he wasn't about to slit your throat when I walked in."

He began to protest, but I cut him off. "Never mind that. You're going to need to go into the FBI's witness unit tomorrow. The people there don't really trust my judgment, and if anything goes to court, it won't do you any good to have me sign off on your report. "

He stuttered. "Wha- wait, no. I can't do that."

My eyebrows furrowed, "Why not?"

He looked around the room for a moment before settling his eyes back on me. "I have a phobia of cops. They give me the creeps."

I sat up straighter and glare at him icily. "So, what? I'm a creeper to you?"

He ran his hand down his face. "Oh come on. Look Miss Max, I don't think you're a creeper. I think you're my neighbor who almost saved my life today."

I scoffed. "Almost? I almost saved your ass, Walker. You would have been dead without me."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure. Now, if you could write down the address to the FBI building, I'll be leaving now."

I looked around the messy counter and grabbed a random pizza box, and scribbled the address on the cover. "If you want, knock on my door at 9:30am tomorrow, and I'll give you a ride. That way you don't have to go through security, and they'll go easier on you."

He mumbled a quick 'sure' and stood, walking briskly to the door.

Some fear, huh?

* * *

Later at about one-am, Dylan and I finally finished the reports of neighbors who gathered in the hallway.

Just as I was about to walk out and make an attempt at sleep, Dylan rounded on me.

We were in the living room, and he swept between the door and me before I could make my escape. "Max, you're a hard worker and a damn good agent, but you have to cut the crap. The law is the law, and we're here to enforce it. It's not a free pass to break it. Just because you carry a weapon and you have a contract to kill doesn't mean I won't put you in jail. Do _not _press your luck like you did today. It was pretty obvious you almost killed that man, and I don't want it happening again. If it does, you'll be just another criminal."

I swallowed and nodded mutely, pushing past him and into the hallway.

I walked into my apartment and slammed the door behind me, letting out and annoyed shriek.

Why can't life ever be simple?

I stomped to my bed angrily and fell back onto it, letting the heaps of sheet and comforter engulf me in their warm embrace.

* * *

The next morning, I woke to a knock on the door.

My eyes snapped open and I groaned loudly in exasperation. I detangled myself from the bed and stumbled through the hallway and into the living room. I slammed the door open with the most deadly look on my face.

Standing there, leaning on the wall across the hallway was a dressed and awake Fang, looking calm and collected. At my look, he quickly explained. "I wasn't planning to wake you up and make you give me a ride, but my car broke down and you offered yesterday and…, "He paused, seeming unsure, "maybe I should go."

He turned to leave, but before he could I grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him inside. He gave a cry of surprise as I dragged him to the couch, throwing him down forcefully. I glared at and said a short. "Sit and _do not _do anything."

He gave a quick 'sure'.

I stomped to my room and abandoned my pajamas for a pair of loose trousers and white shirt. I threw on my FBI jacket and clipped my harness to my belt.

Across the room, I unlocked a drawer and pulled out one of the many boxes of 9 milometer bullets, took a few out and refilled the magazine in my gun.

I shoved it into the harness and hurriedly put on some comfortable shoes before walking back out to the living room. I shot Fang a glance. "Let's go."

He scrambled after me and we left the apartment, and I barely paused to lock the door behind me.

We trudged out of the apartment building and onto the empty street.

Here's the thing about California: Working adults either sleep in till eleven every morning or they wake up at three-am to go to work. There's no in between.

We walked to the parking lot and I climbed onto my red and black Yahama motorcycle, sliding the helmet over my head. I hurried to turned on the engine, and sighed as it revved to life.

Turning my head, I have a pointed look to Fang. "Come on! We don't have all day for you to stand there drooling over my bike. Get on!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Can I drive it?"

I scoffed, giving him a funny look. "Yeah right. I barely know you, there's no way I'm letting you drive my bike."

He shrugged and climbed onto the bike, and soon we were pulling out of the park.

While we stopped, Fang asked a question. "Are you even allowed to have this? While being in the FBI I mean?"

I turned to face him, our proximity less than comfortable. "Not exactly. I have a government issued car, but I leave it in the parking lot. I have no use for it. Except for when I'm on duty; then my boss makes me use it. Now, unless you want to all off and get us both killed, I suggest you hold on."

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing his chest against my back.

I revved the engine and we shot forward, through the streets of Oakland, California.

We raced along at a speed that doesn't exactly abide by the law, and…well, I'm pretty sure Fang was having the time of his life.

Every time I glanced back, he would have the same impassive expression, but his eyes shone with a sparkling fire, seeming to light up his entire face.

I raced faster, picking up speed.

About five minutes later, I glanced back again, and there was this teensy little smile on his face.

See what the thrill of speed can do to you?

Sadly though, the FBI building soon came into sight, and I made a sharp turn to make the entrance. Fang made a cry of surprise, and I yelled back at him, "Lean _with the bike._

We swerved through the parking lot and into a space near the front, in clear view of my office window.

Fang unwound his arms from my waist and climbed off. He stood there a second, admiring the bike, until I locked it.

I walked off, not even sparing a glance at him. My helmet bounced against my leg as we walked in, and I quickly flashed my ID to the guard.

He nodded in approval and gestured at Fang questioningly.

I looked at him over my shoulder and said to the guard. "He's with me. No need to do the regular stuff."

Fang and I walked through countless hallways and up a set of stairs until we reached a double glass door that said in big black letters "Witness Arrangement Unit"

Fang asked questioningly. "Arrangement?"

I responded. "Yeah. It used to say 'Witness Protection' but the people who deal with witnesses who don't go into Witness Protection got pissy and the people got all scares, so they had to change it."

We walked in and to one of the back offices. I opened it carelessly and saw a young, Mocha skinned girl with curly hair sitting at a desk, a series of wires wound around her. She was speaking to an older man across from her who was staring at a computer.

She spoke to the man. "Yes, my name is Monique Carter. I think I made that pretty obvious."

They both looked up at my entrance, and I smiled sheepishly. "Opps, my bad, "I pointed to the man, "You! I need to see you."

The man sighed and shut his computer. "I'm sorry Agent Carter, we'll have to do this later. Agent Ride here is quite persistent, and would be quite angry if I didn't give her my immediate attention. My greatest apologies."

Agent Carter did not look happy. "Oh great. Another trip to Polygraph. Why is it this office is in the Witness Arrangement Unit anyway? I'm not a witness!"

The man replied. "I'm sorry, I did not plan the way things go here. The receptionist can help you outside."

He gave me a pointed look.

I raised my eyebrows. "Receptionist? Oh, sorry, I missed that. Anyway, I need you to get a report from him. He was attacked last night."

He sighed again, and glared at me heavily, but agreed.

* * *

I knew it would take a while for them to finish, so I headed upstairs to my office.

It was located in a room of large cubicles, the ones that had actual doors and rooms for the team leaders lined up against the walls.

I was at the edge of it all and my seat backed up to the window, a perfect view of the most beautiful place in the _entire _world.

The parking lot.

Exciting, huh?

My solid black desk was really plain…and…well…really messy. Scattered around it were piles of files and things to sing off on, along with broken pencils and random piles of paperclips. The only thing that was in any way personal was a picture of a cat I had in my childhood, that I somehow got to name Whiskey.

I sat down and stared at the mess for a few minutes. Eventually, I took a pile and stacked it on my lap, picking up one of the only pencils that weren't snapped in half from my frustration.

Turning to face the window in my roll-y chair, I quickly glanced to make sure my bike was still there before opening the first one to see a stack of reports of random hate-attacks that occurred in the area. I quickly scanned through each one, and decided they seemed fine and good enough for court, so I signed off and stuck them on an empty space in the corner.

I had only gone through about four of these files when Dylan came out of his fancy office (one that had a view of a park and pretty pond) and wheeled a chair towards me.

He sat down and peered over my shoulder. "What are you doing?"

I glared at him. "_Your _paperwork."

He sat back and propped up his feet on my desk. "And I'm not complaining. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Walker."

I threw the files back on top of a random file and turned to face him. "Shoot."

He started, a serious look on his face. "I want you to move. This kid just seems…iffy. I don't like it. And with you living right across from him, I don't think it will do you much good."

I shook my head. "I have a gun, remember? I'll be perfectly fine."

His voice was stern and demanding. "I'm serious, Max. I want you to move."

I shot back. "No. I like my apartment. It's cozy."

He practically yelled. "Max, this is nothing for your sarcasm! There's more to this guy than it seems. He's _dangerous._"

**He's right you know. There is more to Fang than he lets on ;)**

**In this story I am introducing you to my crazy style of writing. I write weirdly because I never follow one tense like I'm supposed to. My English teacher yells at me constantly for this because in certain essays, you have to write in past tense or present tense, but I write in both.**

** At the same time.**

**It's strange, I know ;)**


	3. Cronies Mess Things Up

**The awesome comeback, "If you call me Maxie one more time, I swear nobody will find your body, " came from BookHunter's fanfic You Have the Right to Remain Silent. I love that story, and I suggest everyone should read it. **

**Like…now. **

**Don't even bother with this one.**

…**Unless of course you **_**want **_**to read this one.**

**I'm going to shut up before my ego goes haywire.**

_**Cronies Mess Things Up**_

(MAX POV)

After that day, I never thought about Dylan's warning.

It never came up again, and I was fine with it. The last thing I need is him watching over my shoulder, keeping me away from something that would never happen. If something _was _dangerous about Fang, I'm sure I can deal with it on my own.

For weeks everything was as it should have been. I did my regular loads of paperwork, with ten hours of sleep in between.

And trust me, I was not enjoying any second of it.

All my life, all I ever hoped for was a little action. I grew up in a small town in the mountains of Colorado, and everything was always the same.

Every single day, I would wake up and get ready before going down and eating my breakfast. Mom and dad (known as Jeb and Valencia) would come down at the same time, and while Dad ate his breakfast, Mom would make my lunch. Then it would be time for school and I would trudge through knee-deep snow for an hour with my only friend and neighbor, JJ. At school people, even JJ, would ignore me, calling me a 'loner' and 'emo' constantly. I would make the walk home alone (JJ would be with her countless friends) and when my parents got home, I would tell them how 'wonderful' my day was and all bout my 'friends' (who I might add, were fake.)

Repeat Process.

For eighteen years.

After that, I skipped college and scrambled at my chance to apply for a position in the FBI.

Within a week I was accepted and shipped off to the training camp in Quantico, Virginia, much to my parent's disappointment.

For the most part, the job has been just as I expected, and I've loved every second of it.

After six years and my newbie stage has ended, things still haven't lost their excitement.

Every case is different; there's frauds, murders, robberies, etc. The great thing about is, not a single case is the same. There's different people, different circumstances and more, and when you have to deal with it, it's an entirely new puzzle to solve; always different from the last.

With the last couple of weeks of doing nothing but paperwork, my life has been a living hell.

…That is, until Wednesday came.

After work, I stomped down the dingy hallway to my apartment, grumbling profanities.

I paused in front of my door and felt my belt loop for my keys. It was empty. _I must have left it at work…_

I pulled a set of bobby pins from my pocket, and hurriedly got started on my lock.

I stopped dead when I heard the voices.

Before you panic, I do not have an annoying voice in my head. **(hehe, don't kill me!)**

Low and muffled through Fang's door came two voices, both male.

Naturally, as a federal agent, I don't normally get curious.

Not curious, but suspicious.

I dropped my bag and a handful of files, creeping silently towards his door, and pressed my ear against it.

Even this close it was hard to hear, and in the five minutes I stood there, only a few words rang out clearly.

Father.

FBI.

And…

Murder.

Just my luck.

* * *

The voices continued to rise until I could comprehend complete sentences.

Fang's voice rang out, hard and edges with anger. He was yelling furiously, sounding hurt and betrayed, "How could you? You were a good guy, always cracking jokes and letting one rip. But now…now you're just like him."

Another voice sounded, just as angry, "I am _not _just like him. I work for him, that's all."

Fang spat back, "And what exactly does your job entail, Gazzy?"

The boy paused for a moment, "Look, Fang, he cares about you. After what happened with John, he realizes your potential!"

"John? Is that his newest cronie's name? I'll let you know, it was a FBI agent who beat him up."

In any other situation, I would have smirked in satisfaction.

Gazzy spoke, sounding less than proud of Fang, "It doesn't matter. He wants you, and it's my job to bring you to him, whatever it might take."

Fang only sounded more enraged, "I'm not going _anywhere _with you."

By now I was sure I needed to interfere and a loud _BANG!_ only made me scramble with the doorknob faster.

I pulled my gun out of its holster and took a deep breath.

…Showtime.

I slammed the door open and advanced inside, feeling a sense of déjà vu.

Fang was against the far wall, his hand latched tightly against the neck of another, holding him against the wall.

The guy looked to be around our age, with curly blond hairand the brightest blue eyes. He was tall, only a few inches shorter than Fang, but Fang would have beat him easy in any situation.

He wasn't exactly strong built, a little wimpy, but still looked as if he could take a few punches.

He was the first to notice me, his eyes seeming to plead with me as he clawed helplessly at the olive hands around his neck.

I sighed and leaned against the far wall, letting my gun hang limply in my hand.

It looked as if Fang was handling this situation well.

Note the sarcasm.

I crossed my arms coolly but threateningly across my chest before saying, "Why is it that every time I come home, you're always at someone's neck?"

Fang stiffened. He stood there for a minute, his muscles tensing. He took his hands away from the Gazzy's neck, and let him drop to the floor.

Slowly, he turned in my direction.

Gazzy breathed a sigh of relief and lent against the wall, breathing heavily.

Fang's gaze was one that could kill, and when it locked with mine I didn't turn away, but stared back, waiting.

His voice was softer than it was with Gazzy, but was still laced with an edge of raw anger, "What do you want, Max?"

I replied, sounding as if I couldn't care less, "Peace. Or at least enough to get some sleep."

He scoffed, "So do I. Maybe you will, as soon as this little minion leaves me alone."

He aimed a pointed glance in Gazzy's direction.

I pushed myself from the wall, striding slowly towards a frightened looking Gazzy, "Do I have to arrest this one too?"

Fang shook his head, "No. Trust me, it won't do either of us any good."

I shrugged and continued walking, "Can I punch him?"

He cocked his head, "Why do _you _want to punch him?"

"He's a cronie, right? I don't like cronies. They only ever mess things up."

His eyes widened half an inch, "How do you know about that?"

I walked by him, speaking threateningly, "Next time you want to slit someone's throat, do it _quietly._"

Gazzy, who had been silent up until now, spoke up, "Go ahead Maxie, try me."

I swiveled in his direction, "Call me Maxie one more time, and I swear nobody will ever find your body." **(Awesome comeback provided by BookHunter, who generously let me use it. Thanks again :D)**

"You should teach Fang something about that _Maxie, _" My glare deepened, "Since he's obviously not interested."

Behind me, Fang growled threateningly.

He continued, smirking proudly, "Come on, give me all you got."

I crouched low, right in his face, "All I've _got _is a magazine full of bullets, each of which will be going right through your heart if you don't scramble."

He sat there for a second before standing slowly, watching me warily. He spoke to Fang, "Remember what I told you."

Fang scoffed.

Gazzy kicked a spare bowl sitting on the ground and made his way to the door, slamming it behind him.

I turned to Fang, shaking my head slowly, "What the _hell_ was that?"

He put his hands up defensively, "Don't ask me! He's high or something!"

I stood my ground, "No, he wasn't."

His eyebrows furrowed, "How do you know?"

"I smelled his breath when I kneeled in front of him. The last thing he had was a hamburger with cheese and pickles."

Fang's eyes widened, "Now _that's _what I call creepy."

I crossed my arms and walked in a circle around him, intimidating, "You know what I call creepy? That you were a stay-home-and-play-C.O.D-all-day guy, and suddenly you have people attacking you left and right."

He sighed and tried to reason with me, "Look, they'll go away. Gazzy was the last, I promise."

"Better be."

"He is. Oh, and Max?"

"Yeah?"

He spoke slowly, hesitantly, "How much did you hear?"

I shook my head, "Not enough to understand anything."

He seemed almost relieved, "Okay."

I nodded slowly and turned towards the door, "Good. So I'm guessing this means I don't have to call this one in too?"

"Yes."

I nodded, "Se ya, Fang."

I walked out, and closed the door with a soft click, only after Fang mumbled a quick, "Bye Max."

**You know how books kind of have an underlying meaning in each chapter? Okay, well this is going to be like that, except I'm going to tell you.**

**Chapter 3:**

**In the beginning, it sais Max doesn't regard Dylan's warning. In the books (especially the first ones), Max tries to deny that she is, in fact, supposed to save the world. But, eventually she warms up to it, and soon she's off and about with the flock. She's hesitant about it, and is often arguing about it with Dr. Hans, Jeb, and Dr. Martinez. Here, Max is denying Dylan's authority over her. She wants (and is meant) to be the leader and her own, independent self. It is also splayed in the end of the last chapter when she doesn't take Dylan's 'talk' seriously, pressing her sarcasm further.**

** Gazzy is a 'cronie.' I know Gazzy is in no way evil in the books, so don't hate me for it. But, he loves Angel and will do anything for her, no matter how evil she gets :) hehe, I'm being cryptic!**

** Gazzy is also not cold-blooded, like you'd expect a cronie to be. In the books, he is still eleven, and well…scared. He sees Max as a **_**huge **_**threat, and as most children do, he runs. Also, he was a once close friend with Fang, because Gazzy really does look up to Fang.**

** In this chapter, Max starts to see some inconsistencies. She notices Dylan's jittery-ness in the last chapter about her being anywhere near Fang, and now Fang is being attacked more than once. Also, their conversation (involving 'father' 'FBI' and 'murder') is a little on the iffy side, and as a natural Federal Agent, she sees most thing a whole different way, and she finds it suspicious.) **

** Also, for anyone who watches NCIS, You'll see similarities in the characters:**

**Max: Gibbs (the strong leader, who is held down by his boss, the director)**

**Dylan: Director Vance/Shepard (the experienced leader who always knows more than others, and likes to play with Gibbs/Max's mind.)**

**Gazzy: McGee (the easily-frightened probie who is forced to take orders, no matter how much he hates it.)**

**Dinozzo: Iggy (You'll get this later. He's the jokester who doesn't face reality well. He's all for last-minute procrastination.)**

**Nudge: Abby (Again, later. She's the blabber-mouth, constantly worrying.)**

**NW: (For those of you who have already read Tough, Sarcastic, and Beautiful. If you haven't, DON'T. He's also Dinozzo, he wants to be in charge, even though he isn't, and isn't meant to be.)**

**I actually didn't mean for them to turn out like those characters, I just noticed that a few moments ago.**

**Okay, those are the inner meanings! HOPE YOU ENJOY!**


	4. Deadly

** Hehe, I just got done planning out chapter number 6, and it's (insert cuss word of choice here) AWESOME. **

** Just to tell you guys though, this is going to pass REALLY quick, okay? Probably 20 chapters max. I kind of jumped right up to the action here.**

_**Deadly**_

**(MAX POV)**

I spun round and round in circles, watching the world fly by. Everything was a complete blur as I went, and I was completely set on staying this way for hours.

That is, if my head doesn't explode of dizziness first.

I tried to ignore the horrible sensation ripping through my stomach and continued, watching the swirl of colors and shapes.

Across the busy office space of ringing telephones and scribbling pens, somebody said to another. "What is she _doing_? It's so…immature."

I glared at nothing in particular and shouted. "I can hear you, Howell! Keep your nose out of my business!"

I heard him curse.

I smiled and yelled again. "Thought so!"

Chuckling lightly, I continued in a daze.

Soon enough, my fun was interrupted and I was roughly pulled to a stop.

"Ride!"

My hand flew to my spinning head as I toppled over. Landing with an audible _ooph!, _I pried open my clenched eyes. Above me loomed to figures, gliding back and forth in my field of view.

"Hello," I said weakly, still clutching my skull.

After a moment everything came into focus. A pissed looking Dylan stood above me, accompanied with a smiling Agent Carter.

I stumbled awkwardly to my feet, and grabbed my desk for support.

Agent Carter only seemed to smile harder as I squinted my eyes at her. "Hey! Agent Ride, right? Well, I'm Agent Carter, but you can just call me Nudge. Oh my goodness, I'm so happy to be assigned to your team! We could be the greatest te-"

I cut her off, spinning to face Dylan. "Assigned to our team? Why didn't I hear about this earlier?"

Dylan's voice was hard. "Because she wasn't assigned to _our _team, she was assigned to _my _team. I'm the leader here, not you. Now be professional for once and show her around."

I swallowed and plastered a smile on my face. "Right."

I turned to a wary looking Nudge. "Hey Nudge, I'm Max."

I offered to shake her hand, fully expecting her to comply.

But she didn't, which thoroughly surprised me. Instead, she launched herself at me.

I stumbled backward and gasped, going stiff.

She was _hugging _me.

I awkwardly brought my hand up to pat her back. "Um…Nudge? Can you…detach yourself from me? I'm not much of a hugger."

She apologized quickly and took a step back.

I brushed some non-existent dirt off my shirt. "Okay, I'll show you around."

She jumped like a teenage girl and we set off down a hallway, her curly hair bouncing on her mocha shoulders.

Nudge spoke. "You know, we should really get a decorator to come here the place up. It's so…dull."

I rolled my eyes, glancing at her over my shoulder. "Oh yeah? Try telling that to personnel convenience."

She pouted. "I think I will."

**(STILL MAX POV)**

Half an hour later, I sipped lazily at my coffee in the local Starbucks, staring with wide-eyes at a grinning Nudge. "You're kidding me? So we grew up in the same town, but never met each other? But we lived in just about the smallest town _ever._"

She nodded, picking up her strawberry ice tea. "I was home schooled for my entire life. I lived in those houses up on the cliff."

I nearly chocked on my drink. "So, we were _neighbors _and never met each other."

She nodded, slurping from her pink straw.

I shook my head slowly. "That is so screwed up."

Suddenly, she cried out and practically jumped on me. "Oh my gosh, Max! Do you remember that guy Sam and all of his amazingly-sexy hotness? Holy bejesus, I'd watch him walk out the door every morning, practically drooling! He was so hot! But then this little red convertible would pull up, and I knew I was toast. He would sit in that car for fifteen minutes, kissing that idiot blonde!"

I rolled my eyes. "Bridget Dwyer: sluttiest girl around. And Sam Howell? Well…sluttiest _guy _around."

She threw her head back and laughed. "And then there's that dirty blonde girl who would walk bye and flip them off! I loved her!"

I smiled weakly at her. "Nudge? That was me."

She gasped and smiled harder if possible. "Holy shit, you were my _role-model. _Mom would always yell at me to get downstairs and start studying, but I'd always tell her I'd be waiting for the funniest part of the day!"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh yeah, 'cause _that's _not creepy."

She sighed. "Max! You're ruining the moment with your witty jokes."

I shrugged helplessly. "I can't help it; it's what I do best."

She chuckled and changed the subject. "So, what was with that guy the other day? The dark, moody one you were with. He seemed pretty angry."

My eyebrows furrowed. "Fang? Yeah, he was pretty upset. Someone attacked him. He was spooked because I'm a cop."

She looked curious. "Really? And you didn't look into it?"

I shook my head. "No. It was pretty obvious what happened. The guy was pretty pissed over a previous girlfriend, and eventually attacked Fang."

She raised an eyebrow. "After so many years? Wouldn't he want to do that when the girl broke up with him? Why now?

I sat back. "…You're right"

She continued. "_And _why does Fang not like cops? Does he have a criminal record?"

"No. Just a D.U.I that was eventually dismissed."

"Then why be so spooked? Something big obviously happened to him, or else he wouldn't be so scared."

I did a face-palm. "Oh my gosh, Nudge. How did I not catch that? You're right, I should look into it."

She nodded appreciatively, her lips forming into a mischievous smile that screamed danger. "So, he was pretty hot, huh?"

PAUSEY-THINGY!

**(FANG POV)**

** (Watch out people! This is so cryptic, you will be thoroughly confused!)**

_ What the hell is going on? First 'John' and now Gazzy? _I knew he could be persistent at times, but how many cronies is he going to send after me? Three? Four?

It was all too much, and I knew the best decision was to skip town and make a run for it _before I'm killed_, but…I couldn't bring myself to do it.

In the last year, I had grown accustomed to my new life. For once I had a job and a friend, a house and spare money to spend. How could I leave all that behind?

_Especially _Iggy. In all my life, I've never thought so much of someone.

Now, before you panic, I don't mean you're-so-sexy-I-can't-stop-thinking-about-you thought; more along the lines of oh-my-God-I've-never-trusted-someone-so-much-thoughts.

In the last year that I've known him, I've come to tell Iggy almost everything about me.

Except…Nic-

_No Fang, _I scolded myself, and ran a hand through my disheveled hair, _don't start thinking about that. Not now._

I stood from my resting spot on my favorite roller chair, and paced a few times in the cramped office of the local boxing ring.

_You have to leave. He'll get you in a matter of days._

I grunted in annoyance and squeezed my eyes shut. Upon opening them, I went back to my seat and shuffled through stacks of paperwork.

All too soon, those horrid thoughts pushed at the back of my skull, and my fist collided angrily with the cool metal desk. Cursing under my breath, I shook the hand out, unsuccessfully expelling the pain.

A blond, lanky guy popped a wary head in the white door, and gazed at me curiously. "You should really try blowing stuff up. It does a lot to help anger issues."

I gave a short laugh and peered up at him. "The only thing I want to blow up right now is _you._"

Iggy held his hands up in a mock surrender. "No need to get violent. Hey! That's a death threat! I could get you arrested for that!"

I mumbled under my breath. "Sure, let's call Max in for _another _chance to get me killed."

Iggy squinted at me, suspicious. "Who's Max?"

I rolled my eyes. "Remember when I got attacked? Well, the FBI agent is named Max. Max Ride."

Iggy nodded thoughtfully and leaned against the door. "Did he put you in jail?"

I shook my head. "_She _did not put me in jail, no. I think you would have noticed if I had left."

Iggy was silent for a moment, and his eyes filled up with a familiar light, "_She? _Max is a _she? _Is Fang finally getting laid?"

**(Sorry people! But the **_**are **_**adults.)**

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked at him. "No. Not that I don't get laid, either. Max is just an agent who worked my case; nothing more."

Iggy's eyes sparkled. "Are you sure? 'Cause the name Max sounds pretty badass, don't you think? And she carries a gun! _Hot."_

I smacked him upside the head. Hard. "Yeah right. I suggest you stay away form her."

He smirked. "And why is that? Is _Nicky _getting a little jealous?"

My playful demeanor suddenly turned deadly. "_Do not call me Nicky. _And no, I'm not jealous. The truth is, I told her about your vandalism for specifically this reason."

Iggy threw his hands up and looked at me like I was an idiot. "Why the hell would you do that Fang?"

I smirked slightly and turned to him, "Because she's _hot _and you won't be able to keep your filthy, two-timing hands off of her."

He fell into a chair across from me. "That was only once! You're supposed to set a guy up with hot girls!"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Not unless you want to be dead within the first ten minutes, no. I'm pretty sure your pick-up lines will do nothing but annoy the hell out of her this time."

Iggy's eyes flew wide, "I knew it! You just want her all for yourself!"

I shook my head at him, reaching down to pull a root beer from a small mini-fridge on the floor. "No, I don't. She's too risky."

"And by that you mean?"

I set it down and looked him square in the eye, "I _mean _I don't have a death wish."

"I still don't get it."

"Max will not hesitate to kill you. She's deadly."

** That she is. **

**STALLION OF THE CIMARRON: Yeah, but I want to make it based on their personality. AND, if you read the original version of this FF (it's okay if you didn't) and watched the Kill Ari prt. 2 and Reunion episodes of NCIS, then you should know that Ziva and Gibbs have a 'special connection' because Ziva killed Ari. **

**So, Fang is kind of like Ziva because he's all strong and macho, and has a hard past. He's also just beginning a new life, like Ziva. (Not that Fang's secretly a girl…EW.)**

**But, yeah, you're right. I can see your logic.**

**rofl waffle: yeah, sorry if I offended you :( I know I shouldn't have done that. But at least I know you WERE going to give me a good review, right? I'm going to go delete that now…**

**I'M TOO LAZY TO WRITE THE INNER MEANING HERE. MAYBE LATER. SPRING BREAK IS A TIME TO EMBRACE MY LAZYNESS, NOT TO POINT OUT ALL THE STUFF I PUT IN HERE FOR A REASON.**


	5. Hardly Law Abiding

**Yes, Fang hardly seems drunk. But he's FANG. He can keep down his alcohol and he's only partially drunk because he's FANG. He's SMART.**

**_Hardly Law Abiding_**

**(MAX POV)**

Lights flared all around me, sending streams of blue, red, and white everywhere. It was late, almost midnight, and pitch black. Dark water streamed by below the bridge, and the light danced across it in ripples, making everything seem like one big firework show.

They flickered, one after another, and lit up the gruesome picture before me. It was truly horrifying, and I tried not to turn my head away and make a funny face.

A man, no older than forty, laid limp and ghostly white on the pavement. His light blond hair was tussled and stained a dark red from the blood that pooled below his head. His white shirt was no longer white, but the same color of his hair. His jean-covered leg was twisted at a more-than-painful angle, and it was obvious that whatever happened, it wasn't an accident.

Especially, of course, because of the knife protruding his neck.

I loomed just above him as everyone around me moved silently. A crime scene like this wasn't very uncommon here in Oakland (we did hold fifth place in the running for most-crimes in the United States), but every time one came around, nobody was excited to get there. But we put on a tough face and did it anyway, no matter how unsettling it was.

Which only made the eerie silence even worse.

Only sirens broke the polluted air as agents took notes of everything on the closed bridge that lead to Coast Guard Island.

Dylan stood beside me, looking just as defeated as I feel. I nudged his shoulder gently with mine. He stopped taking pictures and his eyes flickered to me, silently asking what I want.

I broke the silence that loomed everywhere and said. "Are we taking this one?"

Dylan looked down and said quietly. "No."

My eyebrows furrowed. "What? Why not? Nobody else is."

Dylan sighed and turned to face me. "I just don't feel like it, okay?"

I glared at him and said sharply. "You don't _feel like it? _I'm sorry Dylan, but that's pathetic. Even for you. This man was _killed _and you _don't feel like _finding his murderer?"

He turned and taking a step towards me. "Do you want to know what I find pathetic? That you won't move away from that guy, Fang."

I scoffed. "What is it with everyone and asking me about Fang? It's not like I obsess over him! Heck, I've never even brought it up! I've seen him all of two times in my life. Three if you count that one time I passed him in the hallway."

Dylan glared back at me. "Have you ever thought that it wasn't a coincidence that he was attacked multiple times and you were his neighbor? Maybe he and his friends were just waiting until you got home until they started their whole spectacle. _Maybe _he's doing it on purpose."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "You're kidding, right? Have you ever thought that maybe it was a coincidence? You know that I don't live in the best of neighborhoods. He's just as dangerous as anyone down the hall."

"You're right, so maybe you _should _move, after all."

"If a bear sprang through my window and held a knife to my throat, I _still _wouldn't move."

"It's either you move or you get killed in your sleep by your crazed neighbor."

I rolled my eyes and pushed him back, "Yeah right. I think I can handle it."

He grabbed my arm roughly, "I mean it, Max. This guy seems really unsteady."

I gasped from his grip and shook him off. "Don't touch me. You can go squeal in fear from Fang all you want, but I'm going to go do my job."

He grabbed at my arm again as I turned to walk away. I stared at his hand on my arm for a second before I struck. In a second, he was one his back on the ground, just next to the dead man. He stared up at me, shocked.

I spat at him. "I said _don't touch me. _And I mean it. Fang has nothing to do with _anything, _and I'd appreciate it if you mind your own business."

I raised my head to the crowd of agents whose heads were all swiveled in our direction. "That goes for all of you, too."

They returned to their work, and the silence continued. I stomped off to my car, furious.

I sat for a second in my seat, and watched as Dylan sent me a pleading glance from his spot on the ground. I shook my head, biting my lip to keep from screaming in annoyance.

I started the car and did a u-turn, driving away on the dimly lit bridge.

* * *

Upon arriving home, I parked the car just in front of my apartment building. No lights were visible through all the shuttered windows, but I knew half of them really were up, doing some illegal act that I really did not want to know about.

I got out of my care slowly, collected my keys and the newest pile of files before locking it up and heading inside. I took the stairs and headed up three flights until I reached my floor.

In the lit hallway stood a dark figure that I immediately recognized, and immediately hated seeing.

Fang.

His head rested against his door as he stood there, partially leaning against the side. His eyes were clamped shut tightly and he clutched his head as if in pain. As I neared, I noticed the edges of his fingers were stained a dark scarlet.

_Just what I need, _I thought,_ more blood._

I neared him hesitantly and set my stuff down next to my door before facing him.

Fang looked just as messy as always. His black attire was wrinkled and faded, and it hung limply around him, almost as if it was way to big. His olive skin shone with sweat and his defined jaw moved back and forth, like he was grinding his teeth.

I came right up to him and asked. "Are you okay?"

Fang winced, and his hand that wasn't clutching his head flew up to his ear. He mumbled a quick. "Ow."

I whispered. "Sorry."

Fang slowly lifted himself off the door. His hand dropped, and I saw a small gash reaching up from his forehead to his hairline. "It's fine. I'm ju-just…tired."

He stumbled over his words and I quickly realized it wasn't just his injury that was making him stutter. "Either that cut is worse than it looks, or you're drunk."

He tipped slightly and landed against the door. "A little bit of both."

I chuckled and peered at his wound. "Do you need help with that? I could help you patch it up."

He looked up at me, and his black eyes were wary. "Sure. I'd do it myself, but I-I'm pretty sure I'd just make it w-worse."

I smiled and opened my door. We walked in silently. Well…I walked; Fang stumbled.

I lead him to one of the three doors in the hallway. Inside was a small bathroom. In the far corner was a tub that doubled as a shower and next to it stood a small toilet. Across from that stood a white sink.

I slowly sat Fang down on the edge and lingered there, making sure he didn't topple over. When I was positive he wasn't going to fall into the bathtub, I grabbed a washcloth from a cabinet next to the door, and wet it under the sink.

I sat down on the left side of Fang, and swung one leg over the edge and into the tub so that I could get to his wound.

Fang winced as I dabbed at it, cleaning away all of the blood.

"So," I asked. "Why are you drunk again?"

He didn't respond immediately, and for a second I thought he wouldn't until he said. "I was stressed. I figured I'd drink it all away. Instead, I get a massive headache and a gash on the side of my head, just to add to the stress."

I nodded. "And how did you get the gash?"

Fang turned his head slightly and gave me a teasing look. "Are you interrogating me?"

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the smile that broke out on my face. "No. Well…maybe. It's instinct."

Fang cracked his own smile. "Innocence and instinct."

I laughed shortly. "I love that album! Red is a good band."

Fang nodded in his head in agreement. I continued on his wound and continued my 'interrogation'. "You never answered the question. How did you get this cut?"

"Um…Iggy and I were drinking and goofing off. We were at a local club and on my way out I…well…let's just say I missed the door."

I laughed as his cheeks flushed a light pink. He mumbled. "Don't laugh at me."

I tried to stifle my laughter with my empty hand. "I am not laughing at _you._ I'm laughing at the door."

This time it was Fang's turn to roll his eyes. "You were- and still are- laughing at me. It's not my fault. I was drunk out of my mind then."

I raised my eyebrows mockingly. "And whose fault is it for getting you wasted?"

"Iggy."

"And did Iggy make it out alive?"

"He's _mostly _in tact."

"Mostly?"

"He may be puking out his guts pretty soon, but he's not bleeding out on the street."

I stopped myself before I could think about the dead man, lying on the pavement just across the city.

"You and Iggy work together, right?"

He nodded, which caused him to wince against my washcloth. "Yeah. I work the morning shift, he works the night shift, and we both work the afternoon."

"If it a hard job, at the boxing ring?"

"No. That's why I took it. All I do is sign off on new memberships and make sure the fights don't get out of hand. I even get to fight sometimes myself."

"Are you good?"

He thought for a moment. "Yeah, I'm pretty good. Can't say I'll beat you though."

I smirked. "Is that an offer?"

He laughed. "If you want it to be."

I pretended to think. "If I have time. Be ready to get your ass kicked."

His mouth fell open in mock shock. "Oh, trust me, I'm not looking forward to it."

"Are you trying to make me back out?"

He didn't hesitate to answer. "Yes."

I sighed. "Well, too bad for you. I need a good fight. Being an agent is _boring!"_

"Yeah, if you leave out the whole part about getting shot at, catching criminals, solving puzzles. Oh yeah, it's very boring."

"Well, I don't think you realize that half of what I do is paperwork. I'm basically a paper-pusher, with the occasional fraud case if I'm lucky."

Fang stayed as emotionless as ever, but his eyes flashed with curiosity. "Just a paper-pusher? Because you have blood on your shoe."

I looked down and noted sheepishly that I _did _have blood on my shoe. I sighed and explained. "I was working on my scene. I must have stepped in the pool of it. Great, now I have to explain to whoever took the case why my footprint showed up at the scene."

"And if you don't?"

I sighed and dropped my hand. Fang turned to face me fully.

"When you mess up in law enforcement, it always comes with a price. Sometimes you get suspended, sometimes you're demoted, etc. But when you're as high up as I am, and good cases are available but hard to get…when someone wants you out...you're framed."

Fang's eyebrows shot up. "Framed?"

I nodded mutely. "Let's just say, for people who are supposed to enforce the law, we sure do break it a lot."

"I think I've heard that on TV somewhere."

The tense mood was soon dropped and I groaned. "Oh no! You're one of those junkies who sits on the couch and watches crime shows all day, aren't you!"

Fang held up his hands in surrender. "Guilty as charged. No pun intended."

'Which ones?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Law and Order, CSI, Criminal Minds, Psych, etc."

I raised my eyebrows. "Psych? That's a sad excuse for a cop show."

"But it's a _funny _cop show."

"Okay, I can't compete with that one."

We lapsed into a silence. Fang was first to break it. "I think I'm going to go to sleep now. Thanks, Max."

I smiled weakly. "Yeah, no problem. You can use the couch if you want. You're probably going to need a little help in the morning."

"No, I think I'm going to ho home. I don't want to put a cranky guy with a hangover on you. That's hardly fair."

I helped him up and steered him towards the living room. "Well, you're not _too _drunk. So take the couch. Really, it's fine."

He sighed. He was probably starting to realize I was not going to budge.

"Fine."

I opened a closet in the living room and threw a blanket and pillow onto the couch. As I walked down the hall, I called out. "Good night, Fang!"

An annoyed sounding call came back. "Good? What's good about it? I'm partially _drunk, _Max."

Oh, what a wonderful night.

Not.


	6. Her or You

**In the middle of writing this, I heard this car alarm go off outside my house. I sat there for twenty minutes cursing out this car and its owner because it was VERY annoying. **

**Only then did I realize that it was MY car.**

**Pathetic.**

**;)**

_**Her or You**_

(FANG POV)

I pried my eyes open sometime the next morning and blinked groggily. I was lying on an unfamiliar couch in an unfamiliar apartment, and my head hurt like hell.

But what was the most uncomfortable part?

Max was there, across the room, lounging in a recliner.

_Staring at me._

She didn't seem to care when I sat up and stared right back at her, simply picked up a bag of fast-food and ate away, never breaking my gaze.

So, like the stupid guy I am, I asked a stupid question.

"Why does my head hurt?"

Bad idea.

She dropped the food back onto the black coffee table in front of her and stood. She crossed the room and walked in lazy circles around the couch. I watched her warily. She looked like a puma just before pouncing, calm and smooth. But that's Max, and I already saw what was coming.

She crossed her arms, still circling, and pretended to think. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it was because you smashed your head like the idiot you are against your door, _half drunk." _Max continued, and her voice rose. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and I knew it would be best to leave her alone.

That is, _before _she kills me.

If I make it out that fast.

"Or, maybe because you woke me up in the middle of the night, puking your guts up in my toilet." Max stopped, and settled her deadly glare on me. She cocked her hip and tapped her finger on her chin, playing dumb. "Oh, wait, maybe it was when you stopped puking in the toilet, and puked _on me. _Yeah, maybe that was it."

I stood warily, and held my hands in surrender, "Look, Max, I was drunk-"

She advanced from where she stood to the left of the couch, interrupting me. "Is that how your mom raised you? To go puke over women who try and help you? Or what? Did you go all rebel in your teens and suddenly have the urge to sabotage innocent girl's days? I can see the headlines now! 'Notorious day killer strikes again!' Can you try and go a day without ruining mine?"

A string tugged inside of me, and suddenly I had a huge urge to punch her. She was stepping into dangerous grounds. If she didn't stop soon, that string would snap, and I have no idea what would happen.

It was actually kind of funny. She got furious over the simplest thing, and said harmless things. And yet, those things got to me.

I tried to contain myself, really. I stood there for what seemed like minutes, staring blankly into Max's furious eyes. But, as her words repeated in my head, that string was tugged just a little too hard, and I snapped.

Suddenly she was against the far wall staring at me in shock. I didn't think I shoved her too hard, but later I would see bruises on her shoulders, in the shape of my hands.

I found myself in front of her, pressing her farther against the wall with my larger frame, telling her a story I didn't think I'd ever tell anyone, let alone _her._

"My mom didn't raise me well? You've read my file before, and you sure as hell know what happened to my mom. Do you remember, Max? She was _killed. _Her throat was slit, and she was left on the sidewalk in front of our house. She bled to death, just lying there; helpless."

I watched as Max's eyes went from fury, to shock, to curiosity.

Her voice was strong and clear. "Who?"

I was shocked to say the least. I expected a soft 'sorry' or 'oh...'. But no, she's Max. She can't be that simple.

She was Max, who rushed at danger instead of running away from it.

She was Max, who didn't give a damn what others thought.

She was _Max._

In that moment, I knew there was something special about her. I felt the need to get only closer to her, if that was any more possible. So I did.

I closed in on her, so that our foreheads were touching. I closed my eyes and rested my hands on her hips.

"Sam Clark. The bastard hasn't ever been caught, at least as far as I know. I haven't really kept in touch with…anybody, really."

I felt Max's right hand on my cheek, and the other one closed around the one on her hip. "Sam Clark was killed two years ago. Coincidentally, by another killer. The guy in the cubicle next to mine worked the case. They went after the other guy, but he slipped away."

_God, Fang, _I thought bitterly. _You should have seen that coming. You knew he'd do it eventually._

I pulled away from Max gently, but kept her hand. She watched me with a sad expression. I sighed and ran my un-occupied hand down my face, not really sure where to go next.

"Sorry for dumping that on you."

She shook her head. "Don't apologize. It was wrong of me to say that in the first place. Plus, it looked as if you really needed to tell someone."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, I did."

She smiled softly. "Then no harm done."

I couldn't help but give her a smile of my own.

We lapsed into silence. Max gazed down at our interlocked hands, and her eyebrows furrowed.

_Does she not like it?_

I mumbled a quick apology and untangled my hand from hers, thinking she hated it.

_You're such an idiot Fang, of course she hates it; she's just a friend, _I told myself.

But I was wrong. As soon as I let go, and the cold air breezed against my empty hand, it was once again replaced with warmth.

Max had grabbed my hand back.

I turned my questioning gaze to her. She looked at me, and said. "It's fine. You look like you need to cool down. Let's go get ice cream."

I nodded mutely and followed her out the door. We lapsed into a comfortable silence as we walked downstairs together, hand-in-hand.

Once we were outside, I asked, "Can we go by the mail-boxes? I've been waiting for a letter…"

She agreed immediately, and skipped over to the mail-boxes, dragging me along. How she had the energy or the happiness to manage _skipping _I had no idea.

I fished my keys out of my pocket and quickly unlocked my box (number 911), fishing out the cluster of bills and junk mail.

Sitting delicately on top was a small black envelope, with one word scrawled in neat handwriting.

Nick. Only one person calls me Nick.

Hastily, I tore at the letter. Inside, on a blank sheet of paper, it read:

_If you don't join me, Maximum Ride will._

_ -Your father, Nickolas Walker_

My heart leapt irregularly as I read it. He'll take Max… I couldn't even _think _of him taking Max. To have her, suffering, at the fault of that soulless bastard was too much for my mind, and I pushed the mental picture away quickly.

In a second I was dragging her back towards the apartment, in a desperate sprint. But she held her ground, despite my desperate attempts to get her inside. Finally she dropped my hand.

I turned to her, about to try and reason, but she was staring forward, across the street. Even before I averted my gaze I knew what she was seeing, and it made me want to puke all over again.

On the opposite side of the street- in front of another apartment complex similar to ours- stood my father.

His jet-black hair swayed with the breeze as he looked at me dead in the eye. His gleamed with a familiar light, one I had only seen once before with him. It was the light of bloodlust, the light of a need to kill.

A light that was unstoppable; deadly.

His black eyes stood on a face that every woman seemed to fall in love with, with a straight nose, high cheekbones, and soft pink lips. Farther below stood a locked, sharp jaw, which withheld a teasing smirk.

A smirk that I've seen very often.

_In the mirror._

His sturdy frame walked slowly down the sidewalk, a cocky and arrogant walk. He turned so that he was walking sideways and gave me a grin and a wave, and turned back.

Distantly, I heard Max gasp.

But that wasn't my biggest of issues.

Down the street a ways a young girl- no older than seventeen- jogged along, intent on changing a song on her ipod. She hadn't looked up to notice the man coming at her with a deadly smirk.

I watched as Dad turned to me again and pointed to the girl wiggling his eyebrows. He pulled a knife from his belt and mockingly slit his throat, the blade passing within inches of his olive skin.

Almost as if he was planning to slit her throat.

And he did just that.

Max was the first to snap out of it. Dad stood above the dead girl, grinning madly. Max started the mad dash across the street. She got as far as the sidewalk before a black Mustang skidded to a stop just in front of her.

In the drivers seat sat a girl only a few years younger than us. Her blond curls brushed her shoulders as she turned her face in my direction. She gave me a apologetic look, and tears slipped from her blue eyes. She mouthed my name and gave me a wave.

Only then did my muscles that had frozen me in my place begin to work, and I gave my old friend a sad wave.

_Angel._

Dad jumped into the car and Angel gave me one last glance before speeding off down the street.

I sunk to the ground and stared dejectedly at the dead girl across the street. Max slowly turned around, her expression on shock.

"Your" She began. "Your dad is…oh my God."

My voice sounded broken. "I know. My dad is Nickolas Walker, the serial killer."

_And he wants me to join him._

**That should clear the initial confusion up! Well folks, I was actually planning to put this in chapter 9, but I got a little too excited, and couldn't help myself.**

**I'm really bummed :( I got at least twenty reviews the very first chapter, and then five or six for the rest.**

**So…review? For me?**


	7. Destined to Escape

** Okay people! We are taking this story in a whole new direction! I had originally planned for something else to happen, but this one will make it twice as long, and twice as awesome!**

**My goal for this fan-fic: To never have a filler chapter. Each one is going to be just as exciting as the last...let's hope I stick to that one. Please, hold me to it. If I make a filler chapter, fell free to yell at me. Hell, you could go all Max on me and shoot me!...But it you shoot me, know I won't ever be updating ;)...cause I'll be...dead.**

_**Destined to Escape**_

(MAX POV)

My mind was reeling, faster than it ever had before. Thoughts tumbled around wildly in my skull, mixing and creating a dull buzz in the background. I was having trouble focusing on any of them, so I settled on one phrase:

_Oh shit._

_ Oh shit._

_ Oh shit._

How could Fang's _dad _be _Nickolas Walker? _No, it was impossible. I didn't want to accept for a second the horrible truth of the matter.

At work, I had walked past that wall of most wanted a thousand times, yet somehow I never recognized him; recognized the unmistakable resemblance. The same olive skin, the same dark eyes, the same disheveled hair, the same personality…

No. They did not have the same personality. Fang was a kind, thoughtful man who respected the people around him.

Nickolas Walker on the other hand…Nickolas Walker was a soulless _bastard _who killed people. He didn't deserve half of the stuff Fang did.

I couldn't even begin to believe they were related in any way.

No. It just wasn't possible.

I heard Fang stand up from his spot on the front lawn. Soon he was behind me, where I was standing on the sidewalk, staring blankly down the street. He placed his hand on my waist, and carefully spun me around to face him.

The Fang I had only recently begun to know looked nothing like the one I saw now. His rich, olive skin was a pale, sickly color; and his normally sparkling eyes were dull and sad. Everything about him seemed older, as if this wasn't the worst of things he's seen.

_Maybe it's not._

He looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders as his steady hand settle against the small of my back, and he steered me quickly towards the apartment building. I turned my horror-stricken eyes to his as he quickened his pace, practically at a run now.

"Where are we going?"

Fang's gaze flicked to mine very briefly, and they held such sorrow, such sadness that I wanted to shoot whoever was responsible right then and there. "We're getting out of here."

I scoffed and glared at him. "Maybe _you_ are. But there's no way in hell you'd get me to come with you!" I tried to give him a smirk, but I knew it was a wasted effort. "I can work this out. I work at the F.B.I, remember?"

For the second time today, he turned on me. I practically ran into his chest as he settled in front of me. His empty eyes blazed with a new fire, and they locked harshly with my own. "That's just the thing. You _can't _work this out. He wants me, and if he doesn't get me, he wants you. I know I should be playing the bigger man here and giving myself up to him to protect you, but I _can't._ I can't even bear the thought of being in the same room as him, let alone _working with him. _Doing what he _does." _He spat the word with such disgust, it pained me. "And I know you think you can get us out of this, but you don't know him like I do. He's quick, he's smart, and you can never trust anything you know, because he already knows it._" _

He looked at the floor. "Max, we have to run. You can try to get rid of this all you want, but he'll get you soon enough. So I'm taking you with me. We'll go somewhere…L.A, Nevada, Canada, I don't know. Just please, _come with me._"

He paused and finally met my eyes. "I need you."

**(If anyone took those last two lines as a horribly dirty joke, please, please get your head out of the gutter!)**

It took me a split second to make my decision. "We'll take my bike."

He nodded, relieved, and we set off at a sprint towards our rooms. Fang produced a backpack and we stuffed random items of clothing and toiletries in there, barely pausing to shove my gun and a spare box of bullets in.

We paused at the door, slightly flustered, and just stood there a moment. I managed to crack a small smile. "Well…are we going or what?"

"Yeah." Fang exhaled sharply, and we both took off to the parking lot. Someone had called the cops, and now sirens echoed through the afternoon silence. I slung the backpack over my shoulders and climbed on, not at all surprised when he asked, "Can I drive it?"

I rolled my eyes and scooted back, throwing him the keys. He didn't smile or punch the air with his fists, just climbed on and revved the engine.

I leant forward and molded myself into his back, wrapping my arms around his torso firmly.

He looked at me over his shoulder, and raised his eyebrows.

"What?" I asked harshly. "Do you want me to fall off?"

He shook his head. "No. It's just that…if we weren't in this situation, I would have found that as a _huge _turn-on."

That resulted in me punching him in the back multiple times until he ground out, "Right. No more idiotic jokes."

"Damn straight."

As Fang sped out of the parking lot with me clinging to his back, I had a funny feeling we'd never come back.

* * *

(Third Person POV)

Angel shed tear after tear as she sped away from Fang, and down the street. She hated to do that to him, to practically mock him with her presence. He was once one of her best friends, someone she looked up to. Now…now he probably hated her.

_No, _she thought, clutching the wheel of the car even harder. _He can't hate me. Fang loved me like a little sister. There's no way he could hate me._

But even as she said it, she knew there was a good chance he _did _hate her. She just drove in a getaway car to pick up his dad. His dad, the_ killer._

Her lips curled in disgust at the thought of the awful man in the passenger seat. She had never liked him from the beginning. Even when he looked happy and kind when they were young children, she knew something was off about the man. He had a sort of arrogance that was too much to pass off as cocky; a deadly look in his eye that was too much to pass of as a trick of the light.

And then came the day, years later, where he confronted her with a deal she couldn't refuse.

_-June 20__th__, 2003-_

_Angel lounged lazily on the couch of their small living room, absently flipping through stations. She really wasn't in the mood for TV, just a distraction from the tears that threatened to spill._

_ Fang, one of her best friends, had moved out that week, and shipped off to UC Berkeley to earn his degree in English language Arts. He told her he didn't ever plan to come back, that maybe he'd visit a time or two, but he'd never permanently return to their small Arizona town._

_ At first she didn't want to believe him, to believe that she'd be loosing him forever. And when she'd finally accepted that she'd never see him again, she'd cried._

_ She cried for days._

_ Her twin brother, Gazzy, had wanted to follow him there, to transfer schools to be close to him, but she had to remind him their parents still had custody over them (they were only sixteen), and that leaving would be illegal._

_ That's when he joined the crying._

_ That day, as she flipped through channel after channel, she got a visit from Fang's dad._

_ "Angelica!" Mr. Walker greeted her at the door. "How nice to see you. May I come in?"_

_She let him in, because he was a friend's family, but watched him warily. She had never liked him._

_ He plopped down where she had been sitting just moments ago and lent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. She sat down on the recliner to the right of him, staring blankly at the coffee table in front of her._

_ A silence engulfed them for minutes, until he started._

_ And that was when her life took a turn for the worse._

_ When he spoke this time, his voice was different from the friendly one he greeted her with had disappeared, replaced by one much more demanding._

_ "I have a proposition for you, Angelica." He paused for a moment, carefully choosing his words. "A…business proposition, you might say."_

_ She studied him with suspicious eyes, and finally found her voice. "What type of proposition?"_

_ He cocked his head and gave a wicked grin. "I want you to come and work with me."_

_ The ting was, nobody knew exactly what he did. Not even Fang. Mr. Walker disappeared during the daytime, sometimes for a run, sometimes to go grocery or whatever, but not once did he talk about his line of work._

_ Angel's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "What exactly do you _do_?"_

_ He pursed his lips almost hesitantly, but his eyes flashed with an unmistakable confidence. She suddenly got very afraid._

_ "What do you do?" She repeated again, this time much more quiet._

_ He leant back against the plush couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Carefully, he extracted a folded piece of paper from his shirt's front pocket and flipped it onto the table in front of her._

_She reached forward and slowly unfolded the paper. Inside, revealed a picture._

_ She choked on a scream at the sight if it. She stood and backed away from it quickly, her hand pressed tightly against her mouth. She took in short breaths through her nose and soon felt her back hit the hard wall at the opposite side of the room. Tears streamed freely, harder than they ever had before; even harder than when Fang left._

_ She probably should have tried to run, or lock herself in a room to call the police, but she- and Mr. Walker- knew better than that. He'd catch very soon, and she'd probably be stuck with him forever._

_ As she looked up at him again, this time her eyes swarmed with a mixture of fear and hatred. _

_ He held her gaze and reached over the side of the couch, picking up one of their framed photos from the small table that stood there. He stared at it for a long time. "And if you say no, he'll be the next to die."_

_ He slowly turned it around for her to see._

_ It was a picture of Gazzy._

**Okay people! Tell me, where do you want Max and Fang to go? Because I have absolutely **_**no idea.**_

**I thought about describing what exactly that picture was, but decided it would be best to leave some violence out.**


End file.
